


can't you hear me crying out for you, love

by nanero11



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Choking, Crying, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Gags, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Knives, M/M, Murder, Name-Calling, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painful Sex, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, self blame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanero11/pseuds/nanero11
Summary: Geralt goes out on a hunt, leaving Jaskier sleeping in the inn. Oh, if only sleeping was all Jaskier did that night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the noncon scene, if you want to skip it just go ahead and skip this chapter entirely.

A weight descending onto the bed behind him and the light sensation of a hand stroking down his side pulled Jaskier out of his sleep. He leaned into the touch, hoping Geralt would draw lines and circles across his skin because he loved it when the Witcher did that.

Geralt wasn’t supposed to be back from hunting the monster he was contracted to kill earlier today until morning, but the Witcher was very efficient at his job, so it wasn’t necessarily surprising that he’d returned so fast. And this was a rather nice thing to wake up to.

“I didn’t think you’d be back this soon,” he murmured, letting sleep start to pull him back under, as he settled against the man behind him.

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hip, then trailed his hand downwards, grazing his fingers along Jaskier’s bare leg. Jaskier shifted slightly and placed his hand over Geralt’s, halting it in its path towards his inner thigh. Taking Geralt’s hand, he pulled it up and held it to his chest, so Geralt’s arm was wrapped around him, and sighed in comfort as the Witcher’s warmth enveloped him.

“Love, I know you’re tired, and honestly, as much as I’d usually love to, I’m not in the mood right now. Let’s do that in the morning, okay?”

Geralt shook Jaskier’s hand off and dragged it back down the bard’s chest. Jaskier scrunched his eyebrows together, a frown forming on his face, the fog of sleep leaving his mind completely, as a heavy feeling of discomfort settled in his gut. The sort of nauseous feeling one gets when something just feels _so utterly_ _wrong_.

Because the more he became aware of what was going on the more _off_ it felt. Geralt _wasn’t_ like this. And something about the presence behind him felt odd, not quite fitting against him the way his Witcher did. And these hands on him, they were smooth, too smooth, and Geralt’s hands are callused. And Jaskier could list a million more things that felt wrong about this situation, but fear had taken ahold of his brain and a tight squeezing panic seemed to wrap itself around his throat, making it hard to focus and breath.

Jaskier slowly turned, as those hands that were _not_ Geralt’s groped at him, eyes wide as he came face to face with a stranger, and yet the man was unsettlingly familiar. The light from the one candle Jaskier had left out for Geralt in case he’d come back early, slashed across the man’s face, glinting off his eyes and teeth, accentuating his sick, twisted grin, and giving way to deep, dark shadows that obscured the rest of his expression.

Before Jaskier could even think about shouting, the man had his hand clamped down _hard_ over the bard’s mouth, his fingers pressing strong enough to leave bruises and his nails digging into the softness of Jaskier’s cheeks. Jaskier froze, breathing heavily through his nose as the man leaned down next to his ear, his stomach turning as the man whispered, “ _I’ve always wanted to fuck the Witcher’s Bitch_.”

Immediately Jaskier had his arms up in front of him, trying to push the man off of him so he could roll off of the bed, shaking his head back and forth wildly, his voiced protest muffled by the hand clamping ever harder onto his face. The man just chuckled, muttering something about how Jaskier was _a feisty one_ , and laid more of his weight on top of the bard, effectively crushing him, hindering Jaskier’s efforts to break away.

Jaskier desperately attempted to buck the much, _much_ heavier man off of him, succeeding in freeing one of his arms from where it had been pinned against his chest. He slapped the man roughly across the face, watching the man’s smirk fall and become replaced with an angry grimace. Jaskier felt his stomach drop, cold dread filling the pit in his gut, as the man pulled his arm back, his hand forming a fist.

As the brutal punch came down at him, Jaskier tried to turned his head away, clenching his eyes shut, in an attempt to avoid the blow, but to no avail as the hand over his mouth cruelly shoved his head further down into the pillow underneath him, holding him in place. The next thing Jaskier was aware of was a flash of light filling the darkness behind his eyelids, a sharp pain blooming across the side of his face, and a sudden silence that was quickly taken over by a harsh ringing in his ears.

He struggled to pull a breath in through his nose as a burning ache spread throughout his cheek, and he blinked fiercely, trying to _see,_ as sparkling dots filled his blurry vision. Disoriented, he looked up at the dark shadow looming over him as it seemed to sway back and forth.

When the ringing started to fade the man abruptly brought his face down right in front of the bard’s, a menacing glare on his features, spit flying from his mouth as a growled out, “I wouldn’t have to do that if you’d just comply like a good bitch.”

The man harshly gripped Jaskier’s face, digging his fingers in deeper, forcing the bard to look at him, “So be _good_.”

He released Jaskier’s face, and the bard finally sucked a miserable breath in through his freed mouth, watching in dread as the man reached to pull something out of his pocket, revealing a length of rope.

“You asked for this.” The man leered, as Jaskier wordlessly shook his head. “Can’t have all your squirming get in the way of our fun.”

He forcefully grasped the bard’s wrists, and Jaskier hopelessly tried to break out of the grip, crying out as the man began twisting his wrists, a warning for the bard’s actions. He vigorously wound the rope around Jaskier’s hands, binding them together, before stretching the bard’s arms backwards, knotting the rope to the headboard.

“I see you dressed for the occasion,” the man sneered, as he smugly fingered the fabric of the bard’s scant clothing and suddenly Jaskier was wishing he had worn more than just Geralt’s shirt to bed.

“F-fuck you. You-you bastard. I’ll fucking kill you.” Jaskier snarled, shooting a deadly glare at him. The man raised his hand again and the bard curled in on himself, hiding his face in his arm. “I’ll-I’ll—”

“Shut the fuck up, whore!”

Jaskier stiffened as he felt a blade at his neck, his next angry words caught in his throat.

“If you won’t be quiet, I’ll have to shut you up.”

Jaskier relaxed slightly as the knife left the skin of his neck, hot tears flowing down his face, even as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. A ripping sound resounded throughout the room as the man tore the knife through Geralt’s shirt and Jaskier screamed as the blade dug, unforgivingly along the skin of his chest.

“Hah, oops,” The man laughed as brushed his hand down the cut, pushing his fingers into the wound and smearing blood across the bard’s front. Jaskier choked on his sob, the pain overwhelming him, before letting out a startled gasp as a balled-up scrap of Geralt’s shirt was shoved into his mouth, tied tightly into place with another section of the shirt.

And then the man’s hands were on his ankles, pulling his legs down, away from where they had curled up. Jaskier flailed his legs, landing a solid kick on the man’s chest, briefly consoled by the resulting _oof_ and the little bit of distance he had made between himself and the man. He got ready to kick again, but the man shoved his legs out of the way, bringing down the knife once more, this time purposefully, slicing across Jaskier’s stomach.

He brutally grabbed Jaskier by his hair as the bard once more cried out, bellowing, “The next on is to your throat. Do you understand?”

Jaskier frantically glanced at the door, ignoring the stinging pain on his stomach and the violent tugging on his scalp. If Geralt just came back. Oh gods, just let Geralt walk through that door right now. _Geralt, please, I need you._

The man chuckled as he observed Jaskier’s darting eyes. “Don’t worry, I sent him far enough away that we’ll have _plenty_ of time to ourselves.” And all at once it clicked, the strangely familiar face, the one looking at him right now with that sick expression, was the very same one that Jaskier had seen giving Geralt his contract earlier. Geralt had told him about the man afterwards, supposedly someone who was well known and respected throughout the town and was going to pay the Witcher well.

And it all made sense now. This man, this _monster_ , had known exactly what he was doing, enticing Geralt away with a huge sum of money, all so he could…so he could _indulge_ in his sadistic fantasy. He had never wanted a monster killed; he had wanted _Jaskier_.

Anger flowed through Jaskier’s veins and he slammed his head against the man’s, headbutting him. And it hurt, and it enflamed the ache from the punch, but it was _worth it_ to see the shocked look on the man’s face. Worth it up to the point where the man tossed the knife aside, forgoing his earlier threat of slitting Jaskier’s throat, and instead wrapped his hands firmly around the bard’s neck.

Jaskier seized up, struggling as the man tightened his grip, not allowing the bard any room to breathe. All Jaskier could do was look helplessly up at the man, going slack, as his movements became lethargic, the will to fight leaving him.

“Give me what I want, or I’ll kill you right now.” The man only let go of Jaskier’s neck when the bard gave him the slightest nod, a confirmation that he may do what he pleases. Jaskier coughed and wheezed and still _couldn’t breath_ even though the pressure on his throat was gone, trying to drag in breaths around the gag and through his nose.

And he was disgusted with how he felt _thankful_ to the man watching him struggle and not doing anything to help because he left him alone for a minute afterwards, letting the bard catch his breath. And he wanted to vomit at how he just let the man pry his thighs apart, at how he just let the man _touch_ him down there. And he let his head loll to the side, his cries of pain meaning nothing to this monster, as the man ruthlessly entered him, forcing his way into a woefully unprepared Jaskier.

“You’re such a good bitch.”

As the man groaned in pleasure, Jaskier shuddered in revulsion. As the man groped his hands along the bard, Jaskier wanted to throw up in disgust. As the man rearranged the bard so he could take him from another position, Jaskier just dryly sobbed for he had completely run out of tears.

“Does he treat you like this, huh?” The man leaned down, nosing along Jaskier’s neck, taking the bard’s skin into his mouth and biting down on it. “Does he treat you as good as I do?”

And, eventually, Jaskier became dull to the man’s rough thrusts, as he stared blankly across the room at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this hurt to write, this hurt to write so much :,(  
> looking to get the next chap out within the week  
> also pls let me know if i missed anything in the tags, i would never want to accidentally trigger someone


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt shook his head angrily as he made his way back into town. He had given up on trying to find the monster, not wanting to waste anymore of his time, as soon as he’d realized he’d been sent on a wild goose chase. He was _livid_ and not just because he’d been tricked, but also because Jaskier and him really could’ve used that money.

When he saw that man tomorrow, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, although Jaskier would probably tell him it wasn’t worth it. He could hear his bard’s voice in his head, gently chiding him, “Just forget about him, Love, there’s plenty more opportunities.”

His anger dissipated slightly as he got Roach settled into her stall at the stables, deciding that they would leave this miserable town in the morning. He knew Jaskier had a gig planned for tomorrow night, but the bard would understand.

Not wanting to go to bed upset, Geralt opted to spend time with Roach, who was always a good listener, instead of heading directly inside. He smoothed his hands down her neck, giving her a good pet, muttering to her about how stupid that hunt had been, letting the cool air of the night and the soft sounds of crickets chirping and toads croaking, calm him down further.

Eventually after staring up at the night sky for a while, Geralt made his way into the inn and upstairs to their room. The second he got to their door he was immediately on high alert, as the smell of blood and fear and anger and disgust thrust itself upon his senses, shocking him. Through the sound of rushing blood in his ears he could make out grunts coming from the room, along with very faint crying.

Geralt threw the door open, but stuttered in his motions forward as he took in the scene in front of him. Jaskier was tied and gagged, blood coating the front of his torso, and a dark, nasty bruise stretched across the side of his face. And over Jaskier, _inside_ of Jaskier, was that _motherfucker_ , gaping at the Witcher in astonishment.

“Well, this is a surprise. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

Geralt slammed the door shut behind him and rushed forward in a blind rage, grabbing the man by his shoulders and tearing him off of the bard. The man brought his hands up, throwing a punch which Geralt swiftly dodged.

The Witcher roughly shoved the man, who stumbled, tripping on his halfway down pants, and fell to his knees. Taking a chunk of the man’s hair in his fist, he smashed that fucker’s face down into the bedside table, satisfied with the resounding crunch and the way the man crumpled into a heap on the ground.

In his haste to get to Jaskier, Geralt didn’t notice the way the bard was staring at him with a look of unfamiliarity, seeing Geralt, but not recognizing him for who he was. He reached for Jaskier, suddenly taken aback by how the bard screamed and kicked at him. He caught Jaskier’s foot as it was flung at him, instantly releasing it when the bard let out a sob, folding in on himself.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s hands hovered over the bard. He wanted so badly to touch him, to soothe him, to free him from the ropes and gag, but he hesitated, watching how Jaskier shied away from him, tensing up whenever Geralt tried to get closer. He was used to people looking at him in fear, but not Jaskier. Jaskier _never_ looked at him that way, not until now.

He swallowed thickly, pushing aside his feelings of hurt, upset with himself. How could he possibly be feeling hurt right now when Jaskier was clearly the one that was worse off?

“Jaskier, it’s me.” If it was even possible for the bard to make himself any smaller, he did.

“It’s me, Geralt.” The Witcher winced at the way his voice shook. He had to be strong _. Needed_ to be strong and yet it was so painful to see Jaskier like this. And he couldn’t help but think about if he just hadn’t taken that contract, if he just hadn’t spent all that time searching for a monster that clearly never existed, and if he just hadn’t lazed around with Roach for so long before coming inside. The hot, heavy weight of guilt pressed down on his ribs suffocating him, and nausea swirled around in his gut, biting away at his insides.

“I’m going to cut you out, okay?” Jaskier didn’t respond, just sniffled quietly, tears running down his face.

Geralt pulled out one of his knives, trying to ignore the way Jaskier shuddered when the Witcher held the blade up. He got to work cutting away the ropes and momentarily forgot his guilt, anger rising in him once again, as he saw Jaskier’s bloodied, bruised wrists, rubbed raw from fighting against his binds. Once his arms were free, Jaskier scrambled to get away, shakily shooting off the bed and across the room, before collapsing into a corner.

Slowly, Geralt made his way towards Jaskier, kneeling down in front of the trembling bard. Jaskier shivered when Geralt’s fingers gently brushed against his face as the Witcher untied the gag, letting the fabric fall away. The bard spat out the damp ball of cloth that had been filling his mouth, and they both silently watched it plop to the floor. Geralt didn’t know how long Jaskier stared down at it, the only sound in the room being the bard’s wheezing breaths.

Geralt took that time to fully assess Jaskier, making note of all his injuries. Aside from his wrists and the blatant discoloring on his face, he had two jagged lacerations, one running down the center of his chest, the other slashing horizontally across his stomach, both still slowly bleeding. The bard’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, filled with red splotches of broken blood vessels, and several dried-up tear tracks trailed down Jaskier’s damp cheeks. Geralt gripped his hands into white-knuckled fists at the sight of black, ugly bruises in the shape of hands laying over Jaskier’s throat.

Finally, Jaskier looked up at him, eyes wildly darting back and forth as they searched the Witcher’s face. “G-geralt?”

The bard surged forward, his hands gripped Geralt’s shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of the Witcher’s shirt and into his skin. Dropping his head down onto Geralt’s chest, a fresh sob ripped out of his wrecked throat. “Geralt. Geralt.”

“Shh.” Geralt brought his hand up, tenderly cupping the back of Jaskier’s head, his other one taking its place on the bard’s back. “I’ve got you.”

Geralt took a deep breath, fighting his own tears as they prickled uncomfortably at his eyes. _Be strong._

Jaskier tilted his head back, gazing up at Geralt. His mouth hung open, his lips moving as if to say something, but instead he just let out a shaky breath. Geralt gingerly wiped away some of the bard’s tears with his thumb and Jaskier sighed, leaning into Geralt’s delicate touch. As Geralt softly stroked his fingers down along the bard’s bruised neck, Jaskier shut his eyes, biting his lip.

Then, Jaskier was sucking in a sharp gasp, his head snapping up, as a groan sounded out from the other side of the room. Geralt briskly turned, getting to his feet, and pulled one of his swords out from its sheath on his back. Jaskier crawled after him, reaching out to grab Geralt’s leg as the Witcher stalked towards the stirring man on the ground.

“Geralt, wait.” Jaskier croaked out and the Witcher cast a questioning look down at the bard, wondering why he was trying to stop him.

He struggled to think of a reason, possibilities flying through his head, ultimately settling on one that seemed to make at least a little bit of sense. Jaskier was probably thinking about Geralt’s reputation, the one the bard had worked so hard to cultivate, and how much it would be hurt by killing a man of some importance. Well, fuck his reputation. That man had attacked Jaskier, hurt him, _raped_ him, and Geralt was going to _kill_ him for that.

As Geralt was getting ready to tell the bard he didn’t give a fuck who this man was and he was going to end his pathetic life no matter what, Jaskier reached his hand out towards the Witcher, trying to push himself weakly up to his feet. Geralt took it, helping the bard up, and Jaskier leaned heavily against Geralt, unsteady on his wobbly legs.

“I want to kill him.” The bard whispered, an ominous glower upon his face as he watched the man, who was sluggishly pushing himself up to his hands and knees, blood dripping down his face. Jaskier slipped his hand over Geralt’s onto the handle of the sword, and the Witcher hesitated slightly before letting the bard pull the weapon out of his grip.

“Are you sur—”

“I’m going to do it,” Jaskier snapped, but the way he was quivering took away some of the bite behind his words.

To kill someone…Geralt knew what that was like, and it wasn’t something he wanted Jaskier to have to go through, but he had no idea what to do in this situation. He did know, though, if killing the man that had harmed Jaskier brought the bard some peace of mind, then Geralt wouldn’t stop him.

Geralt supported the limping bard as they made their way over to the man, and the Witcher delivered a swift kick to the man’s side, causing the man to topple back over onto the ground. Jaskier broke away from Geralt, dragging the sword up to the man, who peered up at the bard, a challenging expression on his face, not believing Jaskier would really kill him.

Jaskier took a deep breath and abruptly drove the sword down, piercing the man’s chest. Then tugged it out and brought it down _again_ , and _again_ , and _again_. The man’s choking gurgles quickly faded into nothing, but Jaskier was relentless with his endless stabs, tears flying from his eyes.

Jaskier let out one last gasping sob as he shoved the sword down once more, and Geralt placed his hand on the bard’s trembling shoulder. “He’s dead.”

Jaskier’s legs gave out under him as he finally let go of the sword, and he would’ve fallen to the floor if Geralt hadn’t caught him. Wrapping his arms around Jaskier, the Witcher pulled him against him, carefully cradling the bard into his chest.

“He can’t hurt you anymore. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for the comments on the last one guys, really helped me get through this chap <3  
> i can say right now that there will be at least 1 more chap after this...if not more


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woww! sorry this took forever, to be honest I wasn't in the right mindset to write it, but now we get some comfort, thanks for being patient :)  
> cw: vomit in the third paragraph

Jaskier’s fingers clawed down Geralt’s chest, trying to push the Witcher away, as Geralt held him up. He _couldn’t_ do this. Hands on him. Hands _all over_ him. And he knew it was just Geralt, and Geralt would never hurt him, but still he was being _touched_.

And suddenly everything was coming down around him, crushing him. He felt like his head was splitting in two and his ribs were closing in on him and when he looked down at himself all he could see was a dizzying amount of blood, which he noted, with a sick feeling twisting in his gut, didn’t just belong to him.

Geralt finally let him go when Jaskier let out a wail, pounding his fists against the Witcher. He slumped to the ground, retching until he couldn’t anymore, and then all he could do was dry heave. His arms trembled, threatening to give out, which would send him plummeting down into the contents of his stomach.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man lying on the floor in a huge puddle of still pooling blood. Jaskier swore the man’s head was turned, his eyes open in an unblinking, blank stare, looking directly at him. Jaskier’s skin crawled and his already upset stomach felt like it was flipping all over again. A soft touch on the side of his face had him flinching, but he let Geralt turn his gaze away from the man.

The Witcher had kneeled down next to the bard, and, at some point, had started rubbing soothing circles on Jaskier’s back. Jaskier jolted forward when he noticed the hand on his back, and immediately Geralt pulled his hand away, his expression full of so much concern and love that Jaskier hated himself for ever wanting to lean away from Geralt’s touch.

“S-sorry,” Jaskier stuttered, wincing at the way his throat burned just from speaking the one word. He let his gaze drop down to the floor when Geralt frowned at him.

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for,” Geralt said gruffly, shifting so that he was sitting next to Jaskier, laying his hand next to the bard’s on the floor. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier curled his fingers into a fist, digging his nails into his palm, because logically, he knew Geralt was right, but still something was nagging in his brain. The fact that he had just given up, that he hadn’t kept fighting, that he had let the man do what he wanted. He found that before he could attempt to dispel that thought, before he could convince himself of the truth Geralt had spoken, he was already talking.

“I let him do it.” He whispered, and for a moment he thought that Geralt might not have heard him as a brief silence settled between them.

“What?”

And he couldn’t bear to look at Geralt, couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d find on the Witcher’s face. And once the words had begun spilling out, no matter how false they sounded spoken aloud, he found that they just wouldn’t stop forcing their way out of him.

“I just, fuck…I _gave_ up, I let him do it to me.”

“Jaskier.” And the bard couldn’t help himself anymore, he let his eyes flick up to meet Geralt’s. The Witcher’s expression had darkened, a deep frown claiming his mouth, his eyebrows descending into a profound furrow, as he growled, “He would’ve _killed_ you if you didn’t.”

Jaskier swallowed thickly as the words slowly sunk in, feeling the pressure of nonexistent hands wrapping themselves around his throat. “I know.”

“Then you know you didn’t let him do it. _Fuck_ , Jask, you didn’t give up, you fought as hard as you could,” Geralt stated in such an irrevocable tone there was no way the bard could argue against him.

Jaskier pulled in a shaky breath, sighing as the weight that had been squeezing down on him let up a little, the thought of his unwilling submission to the man fading. He knew it was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, but for now it left him alone.

A look at the Witcher’s face showed that his expression had tighten, his bright yellow eyes glistening with unshed tears. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I…I should’ve figured it out sooner that the contract was a fraud. I should have gotten to you as fast as possible. I—” Geralt pinched his eyes shut as a single tear slipped down his cheek, his bottom lip trembling.

Jaskier froze as he watched his Witcher cry, a sight Geralt rarely ever showed him, and as he listened to Geralt’s ramblings, he could hear between the lines, perceiving the blame that Geralt placed upon himself. A wave up despair hit him, his entire being filling up with sadness, because Geralt clearly had no fault in this, yet guilt and regret was consuming him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, moving his hand so that is covered Geralt’s, which lay on the floor beside his own. “You couldn’t have known.”

The Witcher lowered his head and Jaskier leaned forward towards him, hesitating for only a moment, before closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together. Geralt pushed back, ever so slightly, acknowledging the touch.

“If I have no fault in this, then I assure you, Love, you absolutely have none either.” Jaskier’s voice cracked towards the end, but he pushed through the grating feeling it took to speak. He would make sure Geralt knew he had nothing to feel guilty for no matter what.

They sat like that for a few moments, until Geralt let out a shaky sigh, dragging a hand up to swipe the tears off his face. Then the Witcher leaned back and carefully brushed his thumb underneath Jaskier’s eyes, wiping away tears the bard hadn’t even known he was crying.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jaskier gave Geralt a slight nod, and the Witcher got to his feet, supporting Jaskier as his legs once again trembled under him. He leaned in to Geralt and hated how weak he felt, but still sighed into the warmth emanating off his Witcher

Geralt led him over to the chair on the other side of the room, making sure he was seated and draping a blanket over his shoulders before turning away. Jaskier shifted on the chair, adjusting himself until the ache in his muscles subsided somewhat and the tender soreness between his legs, sore for a reason he _refused_ to think about, wasn’t so amplified.

He watched as his Witcher stalked over to the bed, tearing one of the crumpled, bloody sheets from it, and placing it over the man, hiding him from view. As Jaskier stared at the lump under the sheet, tension he hadn’t known he was still holding seeping out of him. It was just them now in the room, Geralt and him. No unwanted intruder. Just him and his Witcher.

He felt his eyes drooping as Geralt began rifling through their packs, pulling out their medical kit and some clothing. The Witcher eventually returned to Jaskier’s side with the supplies he had collected, along with their pitcher of water and some towels.

He kneeled down, looking up to meet Jaskier’s eyes for a brief moment before getting to work, gingerly wiping away the blood that had begun drying. Jaskier’s breathing stuttered, his mind clearer and the adrenaline of the situation finally worn off to the point where the stinging pain of the cuts on his torso became more apparent.

Geralt glanced up at him again, “I’m almost done.”

“It hurts.”

“I know.” Geralt tossed the bloodied towel aside and reached up to cradle Jaskier’s cheek in his palm, his eyebrows pinching together. With his other hand he gently traced over the laceration running down the middle of the bard’s chest. Jaskier tried desperately to not remember another set of fingers that had shoved their way into that cut, smearing blood across his chest. “This one won’t need stiches, but—” Geralt’s fingers trailed down to the slash across the bard’s belly, “—this one will.”

Jaskier nodded, shutting his eyes as Geralt set up his tools to begin stitching him up. He’d had worse before, a monster’s claw catching him across his back, but this…this was different. This injury he’d gotten because—because of—he didn’t want to think about it. Forcing his eyes open, he took in the comforting sight of his Witcher before him.

Stretching his hand out from where it was gripping the armrest of the chair, Jaskier brushed a few stray hairs out of the Witcher’s face and behind his ear. Geralt hummed and Jaskier knew they’d get through this. If they had each other they could get through anything. And for right now, his Witcher tending to his wounds was enough to soothe the way his soul seemed to be crying out.

After a neat row of stitches, a thorough examination of his injuries, many salves, and even more bandages, Geralt deemed Jaskier properly cared for and handed the bard some clothes. Jaskier was grateful for the way that something as simple as a layer of fabric seemed to put his mind at ease. Covering himself up, he didn’t have to feel so…vulnerable. Didn’t have to think things like violation or how weak he was or see the bandages, knowing what lay beneath them.

Jaskier cast another glance at the lump under that blanket, the knowledge of what he’d done finally hitting him. He’d let his emotions, his rage, get the better of him. He had known that this man was of some importance to the town and killing him was bound to have dire consequences. They could probably never set foot in this town again.

A strange numbness seemed to settle over him as he turned his focus back to Geralt, who was packing away their medical kit and disposing of the dirtied rags. “We should leave.”

The Witcher’s movement halted for a moment and he shook his head before continuing, “You need rest.”

“Geralt—” Jaskier swallowed harshly, the action of speaking still harsh on his throat, “there is a dead man in our room.”

“You _need_ rest.”

Jaskier clenched his fists, willing himself to relax. It was no use arguing with Geralt when he had set his mind on something. “At dawn then.”

His Witcher agreed with a firm nod of his head. A silence fell between them as they looked at each other, which Geralt eventually broke, “What can…hmm…is there anything I can do for you?”

The corners of Jaskier’s mouth twitched up at the offer. And if he knew anything about Geralt, which he absolutely did, it was that his Witcher would fuss about the rest of the night if he wasn’t given a task to do. “Hold me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have plans for one more chapter after this, can't say for sure though when it will be ready to be posted <3


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